“You think it’s possible they might kill each other off for us?” Dante asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
“Hopefully?”
“That, too. You come up with any new theories with how this thing got started?”
Dante shook his head. “Not really. Been too busy trying not to get dead.”
Cole chuckled. “Good point.”
“Maybe if I had some free time, I could jot down some theories. But for now…” He shrugged. “I don’t think it matters much, do you?”
“No, not really.”
“We just gotta survive the day. Then the one after that. Then the one after… You get the idea.”
“Yeah,” Cole said, looking out the window at the sun-drenched streets. “Just survive.”
“Just survive,” Dante said. Then, reaching into the backpack slung over his wheelchair, he pulled out another box of Lunchables. “Hungry?”
“How many of those things do you have, anyway?”
“You don’t wanna know, so better get ’em before they run out.”
As Cole accepted his box of Lunchables, he wondered what would come first: running out of the pre-packaged meals or everyone getting sick of eating them.
“Or everyone gets dead first,” the Voice chimed in.
Cole ignored the Voice and pulled open his lunch, looking outside again. The cars were still, the streets just as empty as this morning. Nothing seemed to have moved at all, not even Barry’s body, which lay where it had fallen. There wasn’t anything resembling a head anymore, though.
“What do they eat?” Dante asked him as he pulled out another box for himself.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, how do they survive?”
“I guess the way we do. Eating and drinking whatever they can find. They’re free to roam out there—for the most part—while we have to make do with what we can scavenge in wherever we end up. Truth is, the risk of being murdered by each other notwithstanding, they probably have it easier when it comes to staying fed. Staying alive, that’s another matter.”
“Crazy,” Dante said.
“And then some.”
Dante pulled open his Lunchables. “So. You figured out how to get us to Bear Lake without everyone dying yet?”
Cole sighed. “I’m working on it.”
Cole returned to the rooftop and walked over to the edge. The crazies already knew where he and the others were, so he didn’t feel like creeping around. Especially Gargantuan, whom Cole knew was still out there. The glass-half-full part of him wanted to think the crazy would abandon the area and go look for easier prey elsewhere, but the rest of him—the one occupied by the Voice—knew better.
There were plenty of prey here. Not just them, but the other crazies lying in wait. It was almost as if, by sticking around, Gargantuan was simultaneously waiting for him and the others to do something stupid, while slowly picking off the competition.
Either way, he was winning.
The fucker was winning.
“And we’re losing,” the Voice said. “But we can fix that. You know how we can fix that, don’t you?”
Cole didn’t answer.
“Oh, you know. Admit it.”
He didn’t. He refused to.
“Refusing doesn’t make it go away. Or untrue.”
Maybe, but he wouldn’t give the Voice the benefit of the doubt by responding.
The Voice laughed. “You don’t have to. I already know what you’re thinking. I’m you, remember?”
Cole pushed the Voice’s laughter aside and focused on Barry’s remains on the sidewalk, about twenty yards from Junior’s front door. There was just a bloody pool of blood and clumps of flesh and bone where his head used to be. Cole looked up the sidewalk and settled on the shotgun that Barry had dropped when he fell. It lay where he’d last seen it, between the entrances of some kind of travel agency and a bagel shop called Wally’s.
There it was. A police pump-action shotgun. Even if Cole couldn’t find more ammo for it, there had to be a few left in the pipe. Two or three. Or more.
Or less.
But maybe more.
…or less.
“Or none,” the Voice said.
Or none.
Not that it mattered anyway, because Cole couldn’t get to the weapon. Not in a million years. Not unless he felt like taking on Gargantuan and however many crazies were still waiting to strike.
Two? Five? A dozen?
Dante had seen at least ten that he could visually confirm, but he was pretty sure there were more out there. Cole agreed with the kid. And yet, it was so quiet that he could hear a pin drop. Right now, the soft, almost comforting sound of the wind whistling through the open car doors and buildings was the only thing that seemed to exist in the entire universe.
Wait. What just happened?
The wind. It had taken on a strange pattern.
What…?
Instead of whistling as it had been seconds ago—and minutes earlier before that—the sound of the wind had become choppy, and taken on an almost…whup-whup-whup sound.
Cole knew of one thing that could make a noise like that. He’d heard it often during his pre-retirement days. He’d heard it in the desert and in the jungles and in the city streets of Africa and the Middle East. He’d heard—
Whup-whup-whup!
He glanced up and across the skyline.
“No fucking way.”
From a distance, it almost looked like a bird of some kind, but birds didn’t make mechanical noises that went whup-whup-whup. Cole had no doubts that he might not have even been able to hear it coming if the city—and maybe the whole damn world—wasn’t so dead silent at the moment. Cole had seen enough of the machines to know what it was even if it was just a black dot in the sky at present.
He stood up and shielded his eyes against the sun and stared at the craft as it turned away from the highway…and began heading in his direction. It was blue in the back and white up front, and the large, bulbous camera hanging underneath became more obvious as it neared his position and grew larger, transforming from a bird-like dot into a flying machine.
A helicopter.
It was a goddamn helicopter, and it was possibly the most beautiful thing Cole had ever seen in his life.
Chapter 27
“Bolton,” the man said, sticking out a beefy hand that easily dwarfed Cole’s, for a handshake. “Thought I was the last non-crazy on earth.”
“You call them crazy, too?” Cole asked.
“Seemed like the appropriate description, what with the bloodshot eyes and all.”
“I agree.”
“You know what’s going on out there?”
“No. Do you?”
“Not a clue.”
“Join the party, then.”
“Swell,” Bolton said.
The man looked every bit like how a chopper pilot should look if you were to cook one up in a lab somewhere. Fifties and around six-three, and while he didn’t completely tower over Cole, his lanky frame made him appear taller. He had a thick beard and the kind of lined face that came with a lot of living. His hand was rough, just as Cole had expected from a man with Bolton’s grizzled looks.
“Gotta say, I’m glad to see you,” Cole said.
“Me or my bird?”
“Both.”
“I don’t believe that for a second,” Bolton said. He grinned anyway. “Thought the entire city was gone, nothing left by those crazies running around down there.”
“Just about. You see some bad things out there?”
“What else is there?”
“True.”
“A few close calls, but thank God they can’t fly, or I’d really be screwed. At least, they can’t fly yet, as far as I know.”
“Not as far as I know, too.” Then, glancing over at Bolton’s chopper, “Channel 7?”
“Yup.”
“Good newscasts.”
“I wouldn’t know. Been a chop
per pilot for them since I left the Army twenty years ago. Couldn’t care less how good or bad their news is, long as the paycheck clears every month.” He looked around the rooftop. “You alone?”
“Not quite,” Cole said.
As if on cue, the rooftop access door opened, and Zoe and Fiona hurried outside. Cole imagined Dante wanting to join them but was stuck downstairs because of his chair. Ashley was also missing, so she was probably keeping him company.
The two women’s eyes widened at the sight of the helicopter squatting like a giant metal bird on the roof between them and the men. Cole hadn’t been sure the rooftop would hold the chopper’s weight, but Bolton had apparently landed enough times on rooftops that he hadn’t been hesitant to bring his aircraft down. Cole figured if the man knew what he was doing… Of course, the image of the civilian helicopter crashing into the building and through the second floor, then on top of Dante, who would be directly below them, had given him some pause.
But Bolton had seemed pretty damn sure of it, because he hadn’t slowed down even a little bit as he hovered for a perfect spot, then started coming down. Everything had gone according to plan, after all.
“Crazy motherfucker,” the Voice had said when Bolton climbed out of the cockpit.
Cole couldn’t disagree with that. Bolton even looked like one crazy motherfucker. Then again, maybe that was exactly what Cole needed right now: A crazy motherfucker to get him to Bear Lake and Emily.
The chopper was a civilian Bell 429, an aircraft Cole was familiar with. He’d had one at RistWorks and used it regularly, either when he didn’t feel like braving the traffic in Donnie’s company or he needed to be somewhere faster than a car could carry him. It was pricey, but more than worth every cent, especially when he had to impress a potential client. Cole wasn’t sure what a news channel was doing using one, but he didn’t really care, either.
“Oh, my God,” Zoe was saying as she circled the helicopter. “I must be dreaming.”
“This is amazing!” Fiona said.
“That’s Zoe and Fiona,” Cole said. “Guys, this is Bolton. Chopper pilot for Channel 7 News.”
“I love Channel 7,” Fiona said as she hurried over.
Bolton stuck out his hand for a hearty shake, but the woman instead jumped into his arms. The older man was momentarily taken aback but quickly recovered and hugged her back.
Zoe and Cole exchanged an amused grin.
“She’s happy to see you,” Cole said to Bolton. “We all are.”
“Glad to be wanted,” Bolton said, barely able to contain his smile as Fiona pried herself off him, looking just a little embarrassed. But not too much, Cole saw.
Zoe looked back at the helicopter. “Is that, uh, going to be fine?”
“You afraid it’ll fall through the roof?” Bolton said with just a slightly mischievous grin.
“Something like that, yes.”
“It should be fine, as long as the building was built to code.”
“Should be fine?” the Voice said. “That’s not quite the vote of overconfidence I was looking for.”
Me neither, Cole thought, but he said to Bolton, “What did you see out there?”
“Not a whole lot,” Bolton said. “I’ve been looking for survivors since all of this began.”
“We’re the first ones you’ve run across?”
“Unfortunately, yes. I was about to give up hope and head out of town until I spotted you standing up here. At first I wasn’t sure if you were one of them or not, so I had to get closer to check you out.” Bolton pointed to his own eyes. “Know what I mean?”
“Bloody eyes,” Fiona said.
“Exactly, little lady.”
“You’re with the news,” Zoe said. “Do you know what’s happening out there? In the rest of the state? Or even the country?”
Bolton shook his head. “A little, and it’s not good.”
“How not good?” Fiona asked.
“Really, really not good,” Bolton said.
Bolton wasn’t starving—he’d had plenty to eat since the world went to shit—but he accepted Dante’s offer of a Lunchables anyway. The pilot dug in, crunching crackers in his mouth and getting crumbs in his beard as he talked, not that he seemed to notice, or anyone cared. They, like Cole, were just happy to see him. Or, maybe, his chopper.
“One and the same,” the Voice said.
“I haven’t managed to raise anyone over the radio,” Bolton said. “As far as I can tell, there’s no city, state, or national government out there anymore. It’s more silent than whores in church, if I can be frank.”
“Is that possible?” Fiona asked. “Could the whole country be infected?”
“Has to be, or I would have gotten some kind of response. The radio works on multiple frequencies. But as far as I can tell, there isn’t even an amateur ham radio operator out there listening.”
“There’s me,” Dante said. “But, uh, I don’t have it with me right now.”
“Well, there’s a lot of frequencies, kid.”
“True.”
“None of it means there’s still not people out there,” Cole said.
“Nope. Doesn’t mean that at all. But if there are, they’re not answering. And haven’t, for the last couple days.” He shrugged. “Take that to mean what you will.”
“What about the federal emergency frequencies?”
“Dead.”
“Dead?”
“Deader than a doorknob. Not a peep. And I’ve tried. I’ve tried lots of times, believe me. I had nothing but time these last coupla days.”
“Is that possible?” Fiona asked again.
“You looked outside, little lady?” Bolton asked. “Anything’s possible, now.”
They were gathered in one of the bedrooms on the second floor, with the window open next to them. A cool wind, unusual for this time of year, blew through the opening, reminding Cole of the breeze that always accompanied the water back at Bear Lake.
Cole stood at attention near the window, occasionally looking out at the streets below. He’d spotted a couple of crazies dodging in and out of buildings, but there were no signs of Gargantuan. Not that Cole thought the man had succumbed to the others. No. It would take a hell of a concerted effort to take that bastard down. From everything Cole had seen, teamwork was not something the crazies had in them.
“I knew something was happening when Roger turned and came after me,” Bolton was saying. He, like the others, was sitting near the center of the room.
Bolton was camped on a sofa, with Fiona sitting next to him, while Zoe and her daughter occupied another loveseat. Dante, of course, was in his chair. If they noticed that Cole was standing slightly apart, no one had brought it up. At the moment, Bolton was the center of attention.
“Roger Newell, the reporter?” Zoe asked.
“Uh huh,” Bolton said.
“Who’s that?” Fiona asked.
“He’s a traffic reporter,” Zoe said. “I used to watch him every morning before I went to work.”
“Roger’s been around almost as long as I have,” Bolton said. “But I never saw him like that.” He snapped his fingers. “Just like someone turned a switch. He went from the Roger I’d known for twenty-two years to this crazed psycho. Killed Kyle, our cameraman, while I sat there in my cockpit, gawking like an idiot.”
“What did you do?” Fiona asked. She was staring at Bolton like a lovesick girl. Cole thought that was amusing; Fiona wasn’t exactly a kid, and Bolton was—well, he could have been her father. Or uncle.
“I got the hell outta there, that’s what,” Bolton said.
“How did you get away?” Cole asked.
“We were on the news station helipad when it went down, getting ready to take off for Roger to do his thing. I think he would have come after me, except Kyle was closer and he went after that poor kid instead.” He shook his head, staring off at no one and nothing in particular. “I hovered over the building for a while, watched as people I’ve wo
rked with for years poured outside onto the rooftop and started murdering each other. I’d never seen anything like it. Goddamn, it was a trip.”
“It’s something, all right,” Dante said. “But you weren’t affected.”
“No. Neither were you folks, apparently.”
Everyone shook their heads, even Ashley.
“Why is that?” Bolton asked.
“We don’t know,” Dante said.
Bolton looked at the teenager, then over at Zoe and Ashley, before turning to Fiona next to him. Then, finally, across the room at Cole. “What’s the connection?”
Everyone else did the same—exchanging puzzled looks.
“No one knows,” Cole finally said. “As far as I can tell, none of us have anything in common.”
“No one has a clue?” Bolton asked.
“We’ve talked about it, but it’s all just guesses.”
“What do you think happened?” Fiona asked the pilot.
Bolton shrugged. “I dunno, little lady. At first, I thought it might be some kind of bio-weapon. You know, something purposefully dumped into the water supply. Roger was telling me about chaos in New York and some of the eastern cities when this first started.”
“I heard that, too,” Dante said. “What else did Roger know?”
“Not much more than that. He didn’t do current affairs.”
“Because he was a traffic reporter,” Zoe said.
“Yeah.”
“Maybe there’s something back at the news station. Something that could tell us what’s happening, and why.”
“Maybe,” Bolton said, but he didn’t look or sound convinced.
Zoe glanced across the room at Cole. “You think it might be worth it to go find out? After all, we have a helicopter now. We could make it there without having to brave all those crazies down there.”
Cole shook his head. He didn’t even have to think about it. “No.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t care why all of this happened. It doesn’t help me survive what’s out there.”
“That’s true enough,” Bolton said. “Besides, I’m not sure there’s anything left of the news station. I mean, nothing left besides those crazies.”
Fall of Man (Book 1): The Break Page 21
